Somewhere Over The Rainbow
by ProTempore
Summary: Julia and me. Julia and I. Which ever way you put it. Grammatically correct or not...it’s still wrong. JuliaxSpike. Angst. Oneshot.


**Somewhere Over The Rainbow  
**Some day I'll wish upon a star  
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me  
Where troubles melt like lemondrops  
Away above the chimney tops  
That's where you'll find me

* * *

Julia and I. Julia and me. Either way you put it's wrong. It's a mistake. Made from something that isn't supposed to last. Isn't going to. "I wanna go dancing," she exclaims, eyes wide, and sparkling. They seem to have transformed from the usual slate gray piercing stares into wide light blue orbs. She's chuckling, fingers clamping around my right arm, "what's the matter?" I think she knows. I know she does. Julia's all games though. Always has been. Always will be. She can be happy if she wants to. Sad if it suits her. She isn't warranted by the natural things such as...emotion. In fact I don't think it's been one time when I've seen her 'happy' or 'sad' in which I've actually believed it. I'm certain, she's a narcissist. Her only outbursts of emotion are cold and calculated and...fake. 

The nails are digging into my skin.

Vicious is out of town. I wonder if he knows what "Take care of her for the weekend," really means.

"I don't dance,"

"Sorry mister but-" she lights her cigarette, takes a drag and rolls down her window before finishing, "Vicious asked you to show me a good time. The least you could do is go _dancing_," her low voice curls into my ears. Reaches my senses the same way the puff of smoke she's blowing out does. Hard. Wanting. And unwelcome.

I know this person. Although I have been dettered somewhat from really seeing her, now that I have I get the feeling that she and I aren't so different from each other.

And so I turned into the nearest bar. I figure we can do without the dance-floor full of people. Can do without the cover-fee and the bumping shoulders with the I've-had-too-much-to-drink-but-not-nearly-as-much-as-I'm-pretending-I've-had chick. The ones that pronounce all of their a's as ah's and vice-versa.

Just a old age juke-box, a couple of songs, and racking up a collection of empty whiskey bottles along the way.

Her cat suit hugs everything. All black and leathery and surprisingly...not Julia. I know it's not her and I wonder if she knows. She hugs her self, swaying with the music and pressing a thumb down on the play button. She uses a pirouette to face me. "Come dance," she mouths over to me.

Who ever thought that 'Somewhere Over The Rainbow' could be so sexy?

_This_ is bonding? Good job with this one Vicious. She stops by the table just to grab my mug. We're the only two in the bar save for the bartender who I believe is literally drooling over Julia whose since slung herself over the music box. The sway in her hips eventually dies.

When she turns back to me I think she's crying. Small lines of black running from her eyes down her cheek, landing on her chest, exposed by the slit of her leather jacket. She's biting her bottom lip, pearly teeth just-so peeking out from behind their crimson red, naturally- full confines.

Without thinking I'm pulling her to my side, my arm slipping around her slight waist. It's different. From day one I could make out the outline of her curves. Of course I'm trying my hardest to remember our situation. I'm trying my hardest to remember the black streaks over her face. It's not that hard though. From that day forward it's what I remember best about her. At the mention of her name or even with the mention of "The blonde," I paint that picture in my mind.

She reels when the cold air hits her, twists in my arms and pulls to the left, folding up like some retractable doll. Great for easy storage. She's on her knees and I pull her hair up behind her. "Your ok," whispered arduously in her ear. I'm helping her into the car, nearly picking her up.

I wonder if anyone else has seen her this way.

It's when I buckle her seatbelt she asks, "do you think I'm beautiful?" her voice suddenly seems disgustingly deep. No longer melodic. It's raspy and hoarse and...oh-so tired.

"Beautiful," I'm not doing much to convince her self-esteem. I'm too busy letting my eyes venture to the slit her leather jacket's allowing. I can make out a bruise. Purple and somewhat swirling like some kind of overhead storm, "yeah. Of course," her eyes are hopeful. I get the impression that I've just said a mouthful. She has the look of somebody that's just developed their first infatuation...like...with a school teacher or something.

Then she chuckled once more. "If it wasn't for me...you know...puking...I might just kiss you,"

She quickly curls up into a little ball. Fast asleep. The moonlight slipping through the window and streaking her face.

It's now that I realize something. It's now that I realize that's she's Vicious's. All his. It's now that I realize that this is a mistake. Julia and me. Julia and I. Whichever way you put it...it's wrong...

an: I sat down with the intention to conceive some amazing epic Bebop fic and ended up with merely this, a mediocre idea and a half-finished outline. This is set just before the affair begins. It may turn into a collection of loosely knitted together drabbles. Please review, this would make me happiest. Kudos if you do, shame if you don't. Thanks!


End file.
